This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters,organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are eitherproducts of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2012 by Jillian Eaton

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, thereproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in

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Cover art photography courtesy of Helena Beumer. Allrights reserved.

Chapter One

“Marcus, I want a divorce.”Marcus William Thomas Windfair, the seventh Duke of

Kensington, looked up from his ledgers to staredispassionately at his wife. She gazed back at himunflinchingly, her rosebud mouth set in an uncompromisingline and her sapphire blue eyes alight with a stubborn glowhe knew only too well.

When Marcus first met Catherine Nettle at her debut ballfour years ago she had been the most fetching girl in theroom. He had been drawn to her almost immediately,entranced by the bewitching curve of her lips and themusical sound of her laughter. Unfortunately, womanhoodhad only served to take his wife from enchanting tobreathtakingly beautiful.

She was petite, almost ethereally so, with a willow likebuild, soft ivory skin, and a tousled waterfall of gleamingblond hair. This morning she was dressed in a blue gownthat accentuated her nipped in waist and delicate features.Her hair was swept back in a loose chignon and pearlearrings hung daintily from her ears. The earrings had beenhis wedding gift to her, and she had taken to wearing themonly when she wanted something.

“No,” he said flatly before turning his attention back to therow of figures he had been calculating. A slim handdescended on his desk, grasped the ledger, and plucked itaway. “Catherine,” he sighed. “You are being childish. I donot have time for one of your tantrums this morning.”

“Tantrums?” A golden eyebrow shot up. “I do not havetantrums, darling, I have moods. Now I have all thepaperwork in order. All I need is your signature.”

“For the third time,” Marcus grinded out, “we are notgetting divorced. It is simply not done. Now give me theledger and get the bloody hell out of my study.”

“Not done often,” Catherine corrected him, holding theledger just out of reach. “But it is done. We do not love eachother, Marcus. We never have.” She gazed at himbeseechingly; her blue eyes swirling with emotion.

Marcus wondered absently if she would begin to cry.Catherine was a magnificent actress, a talent heunfortunately had not discovered until after they were wed.Following their first tumultuous year of marriage they hadmore or less gone their separate ways. He lived atKensington estate during the winter months while she flittedfrom ball to ball in London, and she came to the country withthe rest of the Ton during the summer while he conductedhis business from the city. It was a convenient arrangement.Or at least it had been until she got the ridiculous notion ofdivorce stuck in her head.

For the past two weeks she had hounded him like a dogworrying a bone, even going so far as to follow him fromLondon to Kensington, something she had vowed never todo barring some kind of life threatening accident, whereupon she had informed him she would most gladly come tothe country to attend his funeral.

With distance between them Marcus could begin toforget what his wife smelled like. What she tasted like. Hecould focus on her bad traits, of which there were certainlyplenty to choose from. He could even begin to ignore thepitiable, embarrassing fact that he was still irrevocably inlove with a woman who, by all accounts, despised the veryground he walked on.

Now, however, she was there every time he turnedaround. In his study, in the dining room at dinner, in thestables with his favorite mare. She had become a secondshadow, one he neither needed nor wanted. His wife wasdriving him mad.

“I will be leaving to visit Woodsgate on the morrow,” hesaid as sudden inspiration struck. Wondering why he had

not thought of it sooner, his mouth curved in a faint smile.Catherine may have left the luxury of her London townhouseto follow him out to the country, but she would never traipsehalfway across Scotland to go to Woodsgate, a small,downtrodden fifty acre hunting lodge that had been left tohim by a distant uncle. “I do not know how long I will begone. It would probably be best if you returned to London inmy absence.”

“Woodsgate?” Catherine echoed. Her lips parted indismay. “What in heaven’s name for? You have not beenthere for nearly two years.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.“You would not be going there to avoid me, would youMarcus? That would be very ill mannered of you.”

“And what if I am?” he snapped, standing in one smoothmotion to lean into his desk with long arms well muscledfrom years of riding. “What are you doing here, Catherine?What is all of this? I have told you, there will be no divorceand that is the end of it! Now do as I say and get out.”

“No!” she shouted back, taking him by surprise. Evenwhen she was in the throes of one of her infamous tempers,his wife rarely raised her voice.

“No, Marcus,” she said in a calmer tone. “You will notignore me this time.” The sun streamed through thegossamer curtains at her back and illuminated her entirebody in a soft, otherworldly glow. She looked like a furiousfairy queen bent on ravaging war against her enemy:namely, him.

Sweeping his dark hair from his forehead in an agitatedgesture, Marcus turned and crossed to his liquor cabinet inthe corner of the room. He poured two shots of his finestscotch and downed them both in rapid succession.

“Drinking before noon?” Catherine sneered. “How likeyou, Marcus.”

“Acting like a bitch before noon? How like you,Catherine,” he countered swiftly, keeping his back to her.

He heard her gasp of indignation and then his left shoulderexploded in pain. Whirling, he realized she had hurled thebronze stature of a nude woman he kept on the corner ofhis desk at him. Catherine had always despised the statue;she never imagined it was modeled after her.

“That bloody well hurt,” he growled, rubbing his throbbingshoulder.

Her small chest heaving, Catherine crossed her armsand glared at him. “Good! I hope it did! I have said it beforeand I shall say it again, Marcus. I am not leaving until yougive me what I want.”

In two powerful strides he was across the study andstanding in front of her. Before she had time to react hecurled one hand around the small of her back and yankedher against him until they were chest to chest, belly to belly,groin to groin. He felt her sharp intake of breath and heldher tightly as she tried to twist away. When she raised hersmall fists to strike at him he captured her delicate wrists inone easy swipe and smiled grimly. Enough was enough.He was done indulging Catherine’s fantasies of divorce. Itwas time to put her firmly in her place.

“Marcus! Let me go,” she protested, continuing to turnthis way and that in a futile attempt to escape.

A sharp elbow caught him on the side of his head and hegrunted, but did not lessen his grip. “No,” he said, his voicehoarse as her writhing attempts to free herself spurred animmediate reaction in the heart of his loins. “You are mywife Catherine, and while I know that notion no longer holdsany appeal for you we took oaths before God. I will notbreak them!”

“But why?” she cried desperately. “I am not one of yourthings to be put on a shelf and left to collect dust. We hardlysee each other as it is. We… we have not shared the samebedroom in over three years.”

A fact Marcus was painfully aware of at the moment.

Catherine kept her face turned stubbornly away from him,but he could see the slender column of her throat and thepulse that fluttered there, slight as a butterfly’s wing. Theurge to lean in and nip at the exposed flesh, to nuzzle andlick and kiss the ivory skin, was so tempting he releasedher abruptly before he did something he would soundlyregret later.

“As I said, I will be leaving for Woodsgate tomorrow,” hegritted out, stepping back behind the desk to hide hisbulging arousal. “Return to the city and never speak ofdivorce again. I am done indulging your whims. I am yourhusband and you will do as I command!”

Catherine’s eyes rounded as twin blotches of colorappeared high on her cheeks. Her mouth curled derisively.“I am not a dog, Marcus. You cannot simply order me to gohere or go there and command me to forget things. Go toyour rotting shack in the highlands. I shall still be here whenyou return. I will not stop following you, dearest husband ofmine, until I get what I want. I will make your life a living hell!”

Slowly Marcus sank back down into his leather chair. Hisjaw rigid, he pinned his wife with a stare that had madelesser men turn and cower. Catherine did not so much asflinch. “Are you threatening me?” he asked in disbelief.

A smile curved her lips, but her eyes remained hard asdiamonds. “Of course not, darling,” she said sweetly. “I ampromising you. Have a wonderful trip. I will see you whenyou return.”

With a growl Marcus shot up out of the chair, to doexactly what he had not the faintest idea, but Catherinemust have finally recognized the murderous intent in hisgaze for in a flurry of blue skirts she fled the room, shuttingthe door smartly behind her.

“Bloody hell,” Marcus said wearily. Rubbing a hand downhis face he turned to the liquor cabinet and poured anothershot. He contemplated the tumbler half filled with scotch,

staring long and hard into the amber depths before tossingit back with one hard swallow. Setting the glass down, hewent to the front window and pulled one curtain aside togaze out upon the lawn below.

He was not surprised to see Catherine crossing theevenly cut grass with long strides, her blond hair cascadingdown her back in a riot of curls and her small handsclenched in angry fists at her sides. With her back to him hecould only imagine the curses she was filling the air with,and a smile rose unbidden to his mouth.

Even before their marriage Catherine had been vexedwith a hot temper that flamed instantly and cooled quickly.Her favorite method for dissipating a bad mood was to gofor a vigorous walk. There had been a time when they usedto walk together hand in hand, teasing and laughing andsaying all the things new lovers said.

Now, Marcus thought, his lips twisting bitterly at the ironyof it all, she walks alone cursing my name and I remain inmy study cursing hers. What a conventional marriage wehave.

Brooding, he sat back behind his desk and turned overthe next ledger.

As her husband suspected, Catherine was cursing hisname as she stalked across the front lawn at a feverishpace.

“What an arrogant, pig headed, dim witted bounder!”She crossed the stone drive and turned right; skirting thestables to head towards a trail in the woods she hadwalked many, many times before.

Beneath the canopy of broad green leaves, flickeringrays of sun, and chirping songbirds she could finally letdown her guard and take a deep, relaxing breath. Raisingher hands above her head she pivoted in a slow, lazy circle,stretching out the muscles that had tightened in her back

and neck from holding herself so stiffly in Marcus’presence. The man brought out the absolute worst in her.

If she was completely honest with herself Catherinewould be the first to admit the last thing she wanted in theentire world was to divorce her husband. It would be a longprocess, fraught with gossip and speculation. Hisreputation would be tarnished and hers ruined completely.But she simply could not stand it anymore. The months ofseparation, the sparring words they exchanged wheneverthey were forced together, the way he insisted on orderingher about as if she were one of his poor servants instead ofhis wife. How different it had been when they first met.

Marcus had been charming, attentive, and loving;everything she ever dreamed of finding in a husband. Aftertheir initial introduction she had been consumed by awhirlwind romance of dancing, long strolls through HydePark, and secret, passionate kisses. When he proposedfour months later she readily accepted. Both of theirparents had approved of the match, as had the entire Ton.

It had been, Catherine reflected as she leaned against atowering oak tree and hugged her arms to her chest, theperfect fairytale. Until everything changed.

She could not say exactly when they had begun to growapart. Perhaps it started when Marcus had gone across theAtlantic to Boston for six months, despite her pleas for himto stay. He had left her alone in Kensington and sheremained for as long as she could, but she had still been ayoung woman of eighteen and with nothing to occupy hertime, had returned to London within the month to enjoy therest of the Season sans her husband. She knew there hadbeen rumors, and accepted the blame as her own for shehad done nothing to dispel them.

She now accepted that a small part of her had beenhoping to lure Marcus home with her lascivious behavior,but if he received any of the letters she wrote him, hinting in

not so subtle detail at her exploits, he gave no sign.When he finally did return he was aloof and standoffish;

nothing like the man who had made love to her the nightbefore he left and vowed to think of her every moment ofevery day until he returned.

That had been, Catherine thought with a sigh, three and ahalf long years ago. Since then they had only seen eachother once or twice a year, and then only in passing.Because of their lengthy separation she had thoughtMarcus would be delighted at the idea of a divorce, andquite frankly she could not imagine the reason why hewasn’t. She even knew he had a mistress, a red hairedwidow who stayed with him in London and whom he visitedoften in the country. He thought she had one as well, but shedidn’t. She had certainly entertained the idea, as it was notuncommon amidst the Ton for married women to share abed outside of their husbands. In fact, it was often quiteencouraged. But when it had come down to it, Catherinesimply could not make herself. She may have been a flirt,but she never had been – and never would be – anadulteress.

“I need to be free of you Marcus,” she whispered, onlydaring to say what she truly thought out loud in the privacy ofthe woods where nothing save the birds and the squirrelscould hear her. “I cannot remain married to a man whodespises the very sight of me.” I cannot remain married toa man I love. The words echoed in her head, but she couldnot force them past her lips. Some things could not bespoken out loud, even in seclusion.

Lifting the hem of her skirts from the forest floorCatherine turned and started back towards the estate, herforehead set in three fine lines as she worried what to donext. There was no telling how long Marcus would remain atWoodsgate. The man was stubborn as an ass, and shehad no doubt he would stay away just to spite her. In fact,

she was certain of it. “But he cannot stay away,” she mused, a smile dawning

slowly across her face, “if I go to him.”

Chapter Two

Catherine was soundly regretting her decision to travelhalfway across Scotland when, two weeks later, she foundherself stranded at the foot of a mud strewn hill with abroken carriage and an irate driver who barely spokedecipherable English. It was also raining, great big bucketsof rain that had soaked her clear through to the skin in amatter of seconds after she left the carriage to investigatewhy they had stopped so suddenly.

“Sir, excuse me. Excuse me, sir!” she called into the rain,and when that failed procured a white handkerchief fromthe pocket of her cloak and waved it wildly in the air to getthe driver’s attention.

A short, squat man with a shock of red hair and abulbous nose, the driver had barely spoken two words toher since she had hired him in Carlisle to take her all theway to Falkirk, the closest town she could find on a map toWoodsgate.

“Woot do ye want?” the driver asked, looking up crosslyfrom where he was crouched next to one of the backwheels.

Unfamiliar with carriages and the reasons as to why onemight stop working, Catherine took a hesitant step forwardand, careful to keep her skirts out of the ankle deep mud,ducked her head to get a closer look at the wheel the driverwas hovering over. It just looked like a plain wheel to her, alittle muddy around the rim but certainly usable.

“Are you certain it is broken?” she asked. “Perhaps it ismerely stuck.”

Shooting her an incredulous look beneath his bushy redeyebrows, the driver reached out and grasped one of thelarge inner spokes. He gave it a good yank and when it

popped free he waved it angrily in the air, advancing onCatherine with deliberate steps and shouting somethingshe could not hear above the pounding rain.

“I… I see it is broken! I shall certainly pay to repair anydamages and if you would be so kind as to call me anothercarriage I will – oh! HELP!” she yelped as, in her haste toback away from the infuriated driver, her ankle caughtaround a root and she went flying backwards into the muck.Unable to save herself, she landed with a loud “oomph” andlooked down at her dress in shocked dismay. Splatteredwith mud and dirt and other brown things she did not evenwant to contemplate, her maroon traveling habit was ruinedbeyond repair. As were her leather ankle boots, fine silkgloves, and brand new lace and satin trimmed bonnet. Atleast, she thought with a grimace as she pulled one handfree of the muck, the three trunks she had filled to the brimwith dresses, bonnets, and unmentionables were safe anddry inside the carriage.

Climbing awkwardly to her feet, she shoved a lock of hairbehind her ear and lifted her chin to look back at the driver– just in time to see him taking her last trunk out of thecarriage and heaving it to the side of what Scotlandlaughably called a road.

“What in the world are you doing?” she shrieked. Herarms waved madly as she stumbled down into the ditchafter her trunks. Managing to grasp the brass handle of thesmallest one she gave it a mighty heave, but the mud hadtaken hold of it and the trunk refused to move.

“Get back down here this instant!” she demanded,rounding furiously on the driver who was now sitting atopthe carriage. Plunking her hands on her hips she tossedhim her haughtiest glare, a glare which had never failed tosend servants scurrying to do her bidding, but this odiousman was not so easily cowed.

“Yer bluidy trunks are too heavy, ye wee daft lass. Meh

horses canna pull wit em,” he shouted down at her. Givinghis team of matching bays a sharp crack with the reins, hehooted something in his native tongue and the carriagebegan to move.

“What? What did you say? Stop, I say. Stop RIGHTNOW!” Unable to believe she was being stranded in themiddle of Scotland, Catherine tried to run after the carriage,but her rain soaked skirts and the deep mud held hercaptive in the ditch and by the time she managed to haulherself out, the driver and carriage had disappeared over ahill.

“Oh damn and blast,” she cursed, stamping her foot inpure frustration. More mud splattered up, covering hercheeks and the tip of her nose. “Perfect,” she muttered, hershoulders drooping in defeat. “Just absolutely perfect.”

The rain was not relenting, and it was starting to get dark.Soon the sun would set completely and although Catherinedid not know very much about Scotland, she did know thateven in the middle of summer the nights got very cold. Shewould have to find shelter before she caught a chill and,with her luck, pneumonia.

Promising her trunks she would return for them soon, shegathered up her water logged skirts the best she could andstruck out down the road in what she prayed was the rightdirection.

The wind was howling fiercely and the rain lashing bitterlyagainst the windows as Marcus stood to put another log onthe fire. A quick glance at his pocket watch revealed thehour to be well past midnight, but despite his bloodshoteyes and the shadows beneath them, he did not feel tired.Moving to the narrow stretch of windows that looked downacross the valley he watched the storm in silence, histhoughts hidden behind a mask of indifference.

He had been sleeping poorly ever since he had come to

Woodsgate, and for that he blamed his wife. He could notclose his eyes without seeing her face. He could not walkinto the bedroom they had once shared without inhaling herscent. It was here they had come after they were wed and itwas here she had shyly given him her innocence. She waseverywhere and no where, haunting him as no ghost everhad.

Perhaps he should simply grant her the divorce and bedone with it. She would return to London and he couldremain at Kensington in peace and quiet. Their paths wouldrarely, if ever, cross. But that would not, he grimlysuspected, purge his ever present thoughts of her.

Suddenly feeling restless, Marcus turned to the liquorcabinet and poured himself a glass of scotch. He knew hedrank too much, but it was the only thing that seemed tonumb the ache inside of his body. Settling into a generouslyupholstered leather chair that faced the fireplace he sippedthe drink slowly as he wearily contemplated what hadbrought him to his point.

He and Catherine had been so bloody happy in thebeginning. It had been his fourth season, her first. Initially hehad been drawn to her because of her beauty, but hisinterest had only been further aroused by her charm andwit. She was intelligent and amusing; entertaining himendlessly with stories and poems during the long walks theytook with each other in the beginning of their courtship.When he had stolen his first kiss from her in the shadows ofVauxhallGardens during a ball she had actually slappedhim full across the face, and then had the gall to leanforward and kiss him. It was, Marcus realized with a faintsmile, one of his fondest memories of her. Taking anotherliberal sip of scotch, his expression abruptly darkened ashe recalled the events that had transpired shortly after theirwedding.

He had brought her to Woodsgate for their honeymoon,where they frolicked like children during the day andlearned the secrets of each other’s bodies by night. Hiswife’s shyness had thrilled him, but it had been hersensuality that stunned him.

Marcus had never claimed to be a saint, and hadbedded his fair share of women before marrying Catherine.He had anticipated his wedding night to be filled with tearsand vapors, as most virgins were wont to carry on in somedramatic fashion before and after the deed was done, buthe should have known better. Nothing about Catherine wasever typical, and their wedding night had been soexception. She had winced when he penetrated her, butthen it had been her grasping arms, not the thrust of hiships, which had drawn him into her fully.

“Do you want me to stop?” he had gasped, his facestrained with the effort of holding himself back. Her sweet,innocent kisses and wandering touches had aroused himbeyond measure and it was all he could do to stop himselffrom taking her like some rutting beast.

Unable to express the feelings that were building upinside of her she had looked up at him pleadingly and witha low chuckle he had dipped even further inside of herbefore pulling back out, causing her eyes to round and herbreath to catch.

“Is that all?” she had whispered, her voice thick with illdisguised disappointment.

“No,” Marcus had replied huskily as he lowered his headto nuzzle between her breasts. “That is most certainly notall. Climb on top of me, darling.”

“On top of you?” “Yes. Like this,” he had said as he deftly rolled them both

over and held her astride his hips. Her hair had raineddown like a golden waterfall, grazing the tips of his nipplesas she remained poised above him, uncertain of what to do

next. Capturing her lips in a searing kiss that left them bothbreathless, Marcus gently positioned her over his swollenmanhood.

“You can… do it like this?” she has asked uncertainly.His grin had been positively wicked. “You can do it any

way imaginable, love. Now ride me. Yes, that’s it. Oh, yes,”he had gasped as she established a thrusting rhythm withher hips, “yes, just like that.”

Five short days later they returned to Kensington andMarcus had resumed his strenuous work schedule. Unlikemany of his peers, he understood that industrialization wasgrowing and times were changing. He did not want tomerely sit around and use up everything his ancestors hadgotten him by way of titles and bloodlines; he wanted toinvest in new inventions and new ideas. For that, heneeded to go to America.

He had not planned on being away from his new bride forso long. When he received Catherine’s letters he hadbrowsed through them and put them away in his deskdrawer, too preoccupied to read them in their entirety.Perhaps if he had he would have been prepared for whathe would face upon his return. As it was, when he cameback to discover his wife was not at Kensington where hehad left her, but was rather in London indulging in a myriadof tête-à-têtes with unmarried (and a few married) men, hisfury and jealousy had known no bounds. He had left her inthe city with barely a word spoken between them, and thustheir separation had begun.

The woman had cuckolded him in front of every peer inLondon, and she wanted a divorce. Draining the rest of hisscotch in one hard swallow, Marcus rose a bit unsteadily tofill his glass again.

He was about to sit back down when the front door camecrashing open and Catherine, soaked to the bone with her

hair and clothes in wild disarray, stumbled inside.

Chapter Three

Woodsgate was exactly as Catherine remembered it.Small and rustic, the front door opened directly into thesitting room which was currently alight with a roaring firefrom the floor to ceiling stone fireplace. Marcus’ mahoganydesk, an exact replicate of the one in Kensington, occupiedone corner while leather furniture sprawled in haphazardarray across the rest of the room. Several bear skin rugs invarying shades of brown and black, trophies left behind bythe late Earl of Kensington, Marcus’ Uncle, covered thefloor.

Stepping carefully around the largest rug – she had neverabided dead things in the house – Catherine pushed herhair back from her eyes, swept up the bedraggled sleevesof her dress, and untied her cloak before letting it fallunceremoniously to the floor. Linking her arms behind herback in an attempt to disguise the trembling of her frozenfingers, she drew a deep breath and finally turned to faceher husband.

“The damn coachman left me five miles down the road,”she explained stiffly. “I had to walk the rest of the way.”

“Catherine?” The shock in Marcus’ voice mirrored theshock on his face. He set his glass aside and stood upslowly, bracing his arms against the sides of his chair.“What the hell are you doing here?” His dark eyebrows shottogether. “How did you get here?”

The man was foxed, she decided instantly. It came as nosurprise. Marcus did like his drink, more so now than everbefore. It caused her guilt to know that their separation haddriven him to the bottle, but it was only one more reason forthem to divorce and get on with their lives. “I told you… thecoachman stranded me on the side of the road. You will

have to go back for my trunks in the morning. If they are notalready stolen by then,” she finished darkly.

Marcus gazed down suspiciously into his half emptyglass.

“Oh for the love of…” In three quick strides Catherinemarched across the room, plucked the glass from hisfingers, and threw it with all her might. She wasn’t usually sovolatile, but these were extenuating circumstances.

Marcus watched the glass shatter against the stonefireplace in tight lipped disapproval, and when he spun toglare at her grim recognition gleamed in his eyes.

“That’s right, darling. I am really here,” Catherine saidsnidely.

“Get the hell out,” he said in a voice so deceptively soft itraised the hairs on the back of Catherine’s neck. Perhapshe was not quite as foxed as she had initially thought.Muscles coiled and tightened along the length of his armsand shoulders, making her acutely aware that the only thingher husband wore besides a pair of tightly fitted breecheswas a thin cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up past hiselbows and the front unbuttoned down to his chest.

The room grew silent except for the crackle of the fireand the quiet drip drip drip of water as it fell from her skirtsand began to form a puddle on one of the bearskin rugs.Faced with the prospect of staring down her infuriatedhusband, Catherine could now admit it had been aridiculously poor idea to come here in the first place.Marcus would have been forced to return to Kensingtoneventually and she would have been far more comfortablewaiting for him at the estate with her own maid and a cookand clothes that weren’t soaked through to the skin and –no, it was best not to think about it. She would leave firstthing in the morning, but she was not letting her husbandthrow her out in the middle of the night. The very thought ofgoing back out into the wet and the cold made her shudder,

and she thought longingly of her nice dry clothes carefullypacked away in her poor abandoned trunks.

“If you would be so kind as to direct me to my sleepingquarters, I will get ready for bed,” she said. The stubborn tiltof her chin challenged Marcus to refute her words, andrefute them he did.

“You will not,” he said, looking aghast that she would daresuggest such a thing. Releasing his death grip on the chairhe began to pace the floor back and forth in front of thefireplace. The flames licked out to highlight the blackness ofhis hair and the rugged perfection of his profile and it wasall Catherine could do not to gaze at him in wordlesslonging. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to turn away,yanking off her ruined bonnet and crumpling it in her handas she did so. If only Marcus had grown unfit and fat withage, but alas he still looked every inch the virile man shehad first been attracted to. It had been his handsomenessthat had caught her attention in the first place, back whenshe was a naïve girl of seventeen and he a romantic youngman of twenty two. He had never looked more beautiful thanwhen she was curled on his lap gazing up at his face,studying the contours of his high cheekbones and thesurprisingly soft curve of his lips as he read herShakespeare or recited poetry.

Now he was more brooding than beautiful and the yearshad made his face harsher than she ever imagined it couldbe. His lips no longer smiled and the soft glow that used toenter his eyes whenever he saw her had long ago beenextinguished.

Why could he not see that she simply could not bear it?Could not bear the contempt and dislike that hardened hisfeatures every time he looked at her, when before they hadsoftened with love and happiness. A divorce between themwould be a blessing, not a curse, and a new sense ofdetermination swept through her as she thought of the long

lonely nights she had spent by herself since he left.She deserved to find love again. She was still young, still

beautiful. She wanted children. A family. She longed toyearn for someone as she had once yearned for Marcusand he for her. Desperately. Endlessly. Passionately. Shehad so much passion inside of her just waiting to get out.No, she would not leave. She could not, not until what shehad come here to see accomplished was done and overwith. Squaring her shoulders, she spun on her heel to facehim.

“I am not leaving, Marcus. Not until you sign the papersand give me what I want.” She lifted her chin and stared himdown with all the bearing of a queen despite her wet, mudsplattered clothes and tangled hair.

“Well, you are not staying here!” Marcus turned from thefire to fix her with an icy glare, every muscle in his bodytensed and ready for a fight.

Catherine glared right back. Her husband’s intimidationtactics had stopped working on her long ago. He hadraised his voice to her countless times before in anger buthe had never resorted to physical violence, and she wasconfidant he never would. Her jaw hardened as sheclenched her teeth. He would not be able to send herscampering out of the room this time. This time she wouldhave her way, her husband be damned.

“You would send your wife back out in this weather?” sheasked, gesturing towards the front windows where the raincontinued to pound and lash against the glass. “That wouldbe in poor taste, Marcus, even for you. But if I was no longeryour wife…” She gave the idea time to sink and settlebefore pressing on. “Well then certainly you would haveevery right to turn me out.” Holding her breath, she waitedfor his answer. Catherine did not want to suffer theelements, but if it meant being free of her husband onceand for all she would suffer nearly everything.

Marcus rubbed his faintly stubbled chin and stared backinto the flames, his expression shuttered. “Is this truly whatyou want, Catherine?”

“Yes! Oh, yes it is, Marcus. We are not good together,”she cried, wringing her hands. “Can you not see that? Weare not happy anymore. We have not been happy in a longtime.”

A bitter smile twisted his mouth. “Is that what a marriageis supposed to be? Happy? I believe ours is quiteconventional by the Ton’s standards, do you not agree?”

“NO!” she burst out, surprising them both with the sheerintensity of her voice. Marcus’ eyes widened and heactually took a step back. “No,” she repeated more quietly,taking a deep breath to compose herself. It wouldn’t do tolose her temper now. Her heart beat like the wings of a tinysongbird, fluttery and quick, as if her entire body couldsense that which she so desired was nearly in her grasp.Throwing pride to the wind, she clasped her hands in frontof her in a pleading gesture and gazed at himbeseechingly. “If you ever loved me at all you will do this forme Marcus. Please. Please. It is for the best.”

“For the best,” he echoed mockingly. One dark eyebrowlifted. “Was it for the best when you went tramping aroundLondon, lifting your skirts for any rich man who would haveyou?”

Catherine gasped and jerked as if he had slapped her.Marcus’ cheeks flared with color, as if his cruel words hadshocked even him. Turning, he faced the fireplace, castinghis rigid profile into shadow. Seconds stretched intominutes, and minutes into what seemed like hours beforehe finally spoke.

“I will grant you your damned divorce, but you will dosomething for me first,” he gritted out.

“Anything,” said Catherine immediately. Her heartslammed against her ribcage as a wave of elated euphoria

swept over her. Finally... Finally she was but one favoraway from being free of her husband forever.

Stretching out his long arms Marcus braced his handsagainst the wooden mantle and leaned into the flames,letting them bath his face in flickering light. Once again hetook his time gathering his thoughts, as if he wanted toweigh and measure each word before it was said aloud.

“I do not wish to marry again,” he began at last. “I havefound I have neither the patience nor the time a wiferequires, and a mistress will suit my needs just as well. Buta mistress cannot give me a male heir, at least not alegitimate one, and with no other siblings the responsibilityof ensuring the Kensington title stays with the Windfair’srests on my shoulders alone. Grant me a son and I shallgrant you a divorce. A fair arrangement, do you not agree?”

Poor Catherine was so stunned her lips parted half adozen times before sound finally emerged. “I… you… no,Marcus. No! I will not. Do not ask this of me.”

He sighed and cast her a pitying glance over hisshoulder before crossing the room to pour a new glass ofscotch. Raising it to his lips he drank deeply and finishedhalf of it in one hard swallow. “Then we shall continue as wehave been. You in the city, myself in the country. It really isan ideal arrangement, my dear darling wife. I do notunderstand why it burdens you so.”

Her mind whirling, Catherine bit down on her bottom lipand worried it between her teeth. A child… She andMarcus had tried to conceive after their wedding, but hadbeen unable. She was afraid she was barren, but had nevershared her secret fear with her husband. Was the use ofher body too high a price to pay for her freedom?

“I am waiting, Catherine.”“Fine!” she snapped out, glaring at him with eyes that

shot blue fire. “I will do as you ask, but on one condition.”His glass of scotch paused halfway to his lips. “You will?”

“Yes,” she hissed, tossing her head back. “I will. If this isthe only way I can be free of you than I shall do it, but I willtake no pleasure from the act.”

“That is fine. I shall take enough for the both of us,” hesaid crudely.

Her fingers balled into tiny fists of anger. Fighting toschool the flurry of emotions that struggled to run rampantacross her face, she took a deep breath. “But I have onecondition. If after two months I have no conceived, you willagree to a divorce.”

“That is not the agreement I offered.”“No, but it is the only one I shall give.” Catherine drew

herself to her full height and stared at him without blinking,drawing strength from the idea that in two months shewould be free from Marcus forever. She was not concernedan actual child would come of their intimacy; if she had notconceived before she would hardly do so now. Why, one ofher closest friends had been trying for a child for yearswithout success. It was not an ideal situation, being forcedto lie beneath her husband again, but it was something shewould gladly suffer through if it meant being granted herindependence.

“One year,” said Marcus.“Two months,” Catherine countered swiftly.“Six months.”“One.”“Fine,” he grumbled. “Two it is.”She hid her smile behind a cupped hand.Marcus scowled. “Go clean yourself up and change out of

that filthy dress,” he said. “I do not want mud on my sheets.”Catherine’s smile vanished. “Y-you want to sleep

together t-tonight?” she stuttered. She felt the blood drainfrom her cheeks, along with her carefully constructed layersof control.

Marcus gave a negligent shrug. “Why not? If I only have

two months, there is no point in wasting time.”“N-no, I suppose not,” she murmured. It had been over

three years since she had been to Woodsgate, but sheremembered the way to the master bedroom as if theirhoneymoon had been yesterday. Holding her spine so stiffshe feared it might crack, she gathered up her damp skirts,turned on her heel, and ascended the stairs without lookingback.

Chapter Four

Marcus watched Catherine’s proud retreat up the stairs.His eyes lingered on the shapely curve of her backside,and he wondered if she knew how closely her damp dresshad clung to her breasts or how much it had aroused him.Straightening, he returned to the bar to pour one moreglass of scotch. The clear glass bounced his broodingreflection back at him as he contemplated the sharp,unexpected turn his life had just taken. In a few shortmoments he would lay next to his wife on the bed wherethey had first made love. Where he had whispered naughtywords in her ear that had made her blush and she hadcome beneath him amidst cries of ecstasy. Where his lovefor her had pulsed through him like a drug, and his everythought had been only of her. He remembered everysecond, every moment, and every breath taken in that bed.It had been his heaven before he had fallen into hell.

Marcus knew Catherine believed he had been with otherwomen since their marriage bed had gone cold, but unlikehis peers who openly boasted of their conquests andeagerly looked for more, Marcus had always remainedcelibate. If he could not have his wife he wanted no womanat all, for they would only be able to provide a shallowcomparison to the pleasure he had found in Catherine’sarms.

How many other men had experienced that samepleasure? How many had tasted the sweet nectar of herlips or grazed their fingertips across the smooth silk of herthigh? How many had touched which was only his by rightto touch? On a searing oath Marcus shoved the foulthoughts from his mind. He ran a hand through his hair,pulling the dark curls away from his forehead in a gesture of

agitation Catherine would have recognized all too well hadshe seen it.

For a fleeting moment he considered finishing the rest ofthe scotch and passing out next to the fireplace, but ideawas quickly dispelled. No, his sweet wife would not spendone more night without him beside her. He was finally goingto get what he wanted: for Catherine to pay theconsequences of her unforgivable betrayal.

Marcus’ legs felt wooden as he walked up the stairs. Hetook his time getting ready in the spare bedroom acrossthe hall, taking dark satisfaction in the thought thatCatherine was most likely huddled in the middle of his bedgrowing more and more anxious with every passing secondhe did not appear.

He slipped his shirt over his head in one fell swoop andkicked his riding boots into the corner. Dressed only in aworn pair of breeches that hugged his hips and made nosecret of his bulging arousal, he crossed the hall andstepped into the master bedroom.

The room was dark save a single candle flickering on asmall side table. It illuminated everything in a soft glow, andMarcus could just make out a faint shape beneath thecovers. As he approached the shape moved and shifted,and Catherine’s head emerged from beneath the thickyellow quilt.

“You took so long I thought you had passed outdownstairs,” she said scathingly. The annoyance in hereyes told him that was exactly what she had been hopingfor and Marcus could not stop the smile that tugged at thecorners of his mouth.

Had he truly thought his wife would be waiting for himtrembling in fear? Catherine may have been many things,but a coward was not among them. She would fight himtooth and nail before she gave one inch and God help him

he would not have it any other way.“I am looking forward to seeing how much you have

learned in the ways of pleasing a man. You were quiteinexperienced before,” he said. Bracing one knee againstthe mattress he leaned forward and spread his handsevenly across the quilt, the perfect position for pouncing.

Catherine hissed at him like a scalded cat before shedrew the sheets up to her chin. “Surely your red hairedwhore has kept you well satisfied.”

“There has been no one since you, Catherine,” he saidevenly.

She snorted. “As if I am to believe that?”He shrugged. “Believe what you like.”Her eyes shot daggers at him as he reared back to

slowly and deliberately untie the laces on his breeches.Once undone they slithered down his bare legs and hestepped out of them to stand perfectly still, allowing his wifeto look her fill. She kept her gaze pinned on his face, but theflush in her cheeks told him she was quite aware of thechanges occurring to his body well below his nose andmouth. A hard, mirthless smile captured his lips as he slidonto the bed with the calculated grace of a lion closing in onits prey. Catherine tried to squirm to the far edge of the bedand take the blankets with her, but he caught the quilt withone fist and drew it back with a flourish that left her gaspingwith indignation.

“Surely you are no longer shy? Or perhaps the men youhave been sleeping with enjoy your virgin and vaporsroutine,” he mocked, even as his eyes feasted on everyinch of her delicious body. She had stripped down to onevery thin, very damp chemise before getting into the bed.The flimsy garment hugged every curve like a second skinand beneath his hungry stare her nipples puckered. Achuckle rose from low in his throat when she crossed herarms over her chest and glowered at him.

“Just get it over with,” she snapped, but Marcus slowlyshook his head and inched closer until she was trapped ina cage of his making, her body rigid beneath his, hersapphire eyes wide and luminous.

“No,” he said softly. “I won’t make it that easy for you.”Dipping his head he nipped the spot where he knew her tobe the most sensitive – that little appetizer of flesh betweenher neck and shoulder – and she trembled. His breathcaught in response and he aggressively sought her mouth,pushing his lips to hers with an ardent fervor that betrayedhis desperate longing.

But instead of softening and yielding beneath his assaultshe remained stiff as a board, her teeth clenched and hereyes pinched tightly closed.

“Open your mouth,” he snarled.She shook her head.“Damn it Catherine, do not play games with me,” he

warned. And then, in a voice that had gone ominously soft,“You will not like what happens.” His hand dipped betweenthem to cup her breast over her chemise and his thumbbegan to draw slow, tantalizing circles around her nipple.

She gasped, arching into his touch, and with a growl oftriumph he claimed her mouth. Still she fought him, refusingto yield completely until he had nibbled and licked everyinch of her soft lips. On a moan those lips parted and histongue dived into the dark recesses of her mouth, tastingher as she was meant to be tasted. She kissed him back,tentative at first, then with as much hunger as he, gaspingand sighing and whimpering into his open mouth. More. Hehad to have more.

With a herculean effort Marcus tore his mouth away topull impatiently at her chemise, tugging at the delicate silkwith his fingers and then his teeth until the fabric peeledaway to reveal her breasts.

“You are as beautiful as I remember,” he said huskily as

his gaze swept down across her ivory skin, taking in thedusky rose of her nipples and the faint blush that coloredher chest.

Catherine peered up at him shyly, worrying her bottom lipin a gesture that was both sweet and incredibly erotic.

“Marcus?” she whispered.“Yes, sweet?”“Do you think… you think you could kiss me again?With a laughing groan he dipped his head and captured

her mouth in a searing kiss that left them both breathlessand yearning for something neither of them would admit to.Trailing his mouth inch by wicked inch down the delicatecurve of her neck, he paused to nibble here and there, untilhis teeth grazed her left nipple and he drew it into hismouth, suckling with wild abandon. She arched beneathhim and cried out, her fingers clutching at his hair and thenscratching down his back in cat like strokes that left his skintingling.

His mouth went lower, to the edge of her chemise, andthen lower still as he used his nimble fingers to pull thedamp silk from her flushed skin and expose her fully. Shewas perfect, from the sweet swell of her breasts to theshapely curve of her thighs. He drank her in, first with hiseyes and then with his lips. She tried to close her legs andtwist to side when his breath fanned across the mostintimate part of her, but he stilled her anxious movementsby pinning her slender hips to the bed.

“Let me,” he said hoarsely. “Just let me, Cat.”She went limp in surrender, and then cried out in wonder

when his tongue snaked through her soft curls to lap at theheart of her womanhood. He licked, nibbled, kissed, andsighed until she was writhing helplessly beneath him and,on a gasping sob, came into his mouth.

He could take it no more. A possessive growl rumbledlow in his throat as he shot up the length of her to push

breast to breast, belly to belly, thigh to thigh. When henudged inside of her she welcomed him with arms thatclung and lips that cried his name, and the rhythm thatquickened between their two bodies before they plungedtogether off the edge into swirling nothingness was aseffortless as it was heartbreakingly familiar.

When Catherine woke the next morning she was alone.For a few precious minutes she remained still, staring up atthe wood beam and plaster ceiling while her bodylanguished and her mind scrambled to catch up. What hadshe done? She had slept with her husband again, that’swhat she had done. And heaven help her, she had enjoyedi t . No, she corrected herself as her lips parted on ahelpless sigh. Not just enjoyed. Relished. Wallowed. Loved.

She loved Marcus.Muttering one of her husband’s favorite curse words

under her breath, Catherine swung out of the rumpled bedand began searching for her discarded clothes. Sheloathed the idea of putting on her dirty chemise and theeven dirtier traveling dress, but unless Marcus had gone tofetch her things while she slept…

“Oh my,” she said in wonder as her eyes fell upon threevery familiar trunks stacked neatly side by side next to aheavy walnut armoire that had been a wedding presentfrom some distant relation now long forgotten.

Heedless of her nakedness, Catherine flew across theroom and knelt in front of the largest trunk. It opened easilybeneath her prying fingers and her gasp was one of puredelight as the open lid revealed layers upon layers of softclean chemises, freshly darned stockings, and smartlypressed bonnets. The next trunk held her dresses and thelast one her considerable shoe collection. And Hannahtold me I over packed, Catherine scoffed. There was, inher mind, no possibility of ever over packing anything.

Selecting a pale yellow walking dress whose simplicitywould make it possible to put on without assistance, shedressed herself quickly and efficiently, forgoing the usuallayers of undergarments for a simple ivory chemise andmatching stockings.

Her hopelessly tangled hair posed a bit of a problemwhich Catherine solved by ruthlessly tearing a silk ribbonfrom one of her bonnets and using it to tie her wild curls in asimple tail. It was not the neat and tidy chignon she wasaccustomed too, but it would have to do. Her cheeksreceived their usual pinch to bring color to her otherwisepale complexion, and with that she was ready to face herhusband.

She found Marcus in the kitchen sitting at the table, hislong legs stretched out in front of him and his arms restingidly next to a bowl of half eaten porridge. He looked upwhen she entered the room and his eyebrows pinchedtogether to form an ominous V over the bridge of his nose.

“Hello,” Catherine said, smiling hesitantly. Butterfliesdanced in her stomach and her skin felt unnaturally warm asshe recalled in blushing detail what Marcus had done to herlast night… How his lips had touched her and suckled her.How his fingers had known just the right spots to please.How delicious it had felt to have his body slide over hersand his –

“What do you want?” he asked curtly.Instantly her butterflies disintegrated into one tight knot of

despair and Catherine brutally shoved any errant thoughtsof their lovemaking from her mind. It was clear her husbanddid not share her tender sentiments, and why should he?Was she such a fool that she believed one night of heavenwould free them from hell? Marcus wanted nothing from hersave an heir, and she could not afford to lose control of hertightly bottled emotions now, not when she was so close to

being free of him.Lifting her chin she clasped her hands in front of her

waist and fixed him with a haughty stare. “I was going tothank you for retrieving my trunks, but now I am not.”

“Oh you’re not, are you?” he asked.Was it her imagination or was he fighting back a smile?

She frowned. Marcus did not smile, or laugh, or take joy inanything beyond his bloody ledgers. The man she hadfallen in love with was gone and no amount of hoping wouldmake it otherwise. Hadn’t she learned that the hard way?Remain aloof, she reminded herself sternly. Do not allowyourself to care. If you care, he can hurt you and youcannot stand to be hurt anymore.

“No I am not,” she said stiffly. “For you should havefetched my things this evening past so I did not have to goto bed in damp clothes. No doubt I shall catch pneumoniaor some other dreadful disease, all because of yourinherent laziness.”

“My inherent laziness, hmm?” he echoed and this timethere was no mistaking the grin that curved his lips andlifted the corners of his eyes. “I suppose it was my, ah,‘inherent laziness’ that had you screaming out my name lastnight?”

“Marcus!” Her cheeks flushed a dull pink.“What?” he asked innocently.“You s-shouldn’t speak like that,” she stammered. Thrown

off guard by his unusually playful demeanor she crossed thesmall kitchen and gazed out the window. The glass wasdingy and in desperate need of a good cleaning, but shecould still see the sky was bright blue with nary a cloud insight. Fields filled with wild flowers tumbled off in everydirection, making the view pretty as a picture. She hadforgotten how beautiful it was here, so far secluded from thehustle and bustle of London. Absently toying with a straylock of hair that had come loose from the silk ribbon, she

wondered what her three best friends were doing withouther. She bit her lip to contain a smile. Sinful things, nodoubt.

It was a running joke amongst the four of them thatCatherine, despite her promiscuous reputation, was themost saintly of them all. Only Margaret, Grace, andJosephine knew she had always been faithful to Marcus. Itmade it easier to bear knowing her friends understood thedepths of her faithfulness, even if her husband did not. Theyhad all urged her on more than one occasion to tell him thetruth, but her stubbornness was too great a burden toovercome. If Marcus ever asked her if she was guilty ofadultery she would reply honestly, but he never had. Insteadhe continued to believe rumor and speculation over his ownwife and for that – even more than his abandonment of her– Catherine could never forgive him.

“I like your hair like that,” Marcus whispered suddenly inher ear and she jerked, not having heard him get up fromthe table. His wide hands encircled her slim waist andpulled her back until her bottom bumped softly against hisgroin. Through her skirt she felt the hardness of his arousaland she steeled herself against him with all of her strengtheven as her traitorous heart beat faster.

“With your hair loose and flowing, like you used to wearit,” he continued, his lips brushing the curve of her earbefore sliding lower to nuzzle at her jaw.

She closed her eyes and braced her fingers against thewindowsill. “Marcus, please do not do this.”

“Do what?” His clever hands slowly made their way upfrom her waist to cup her breasts, rubbing small circlesagainst the yellow fabric until her nipples hardened andached. “You smell like violets and sunshine,” he whispered.

She bit her lip to keep from gasping in helplesssurrender and held herself stiff, so stiff she feared she

might break, but it would be better to break into a thousandpieces than have him see the unrequited love shining in hereyes.

“If you wish to amuse yourself go find a whore, Marcus,”she snapped. “One who will enjoy your touch, for I cannotstand it! I have agreed to share your bed, but I do not haveto put up with being… being groped in the kitchen!”

He spun her around so fast her teeth clicked painfullytogether. His eyes flashed and for the first time she felt atrue quivering of fear lick low in her belly. “Marcus, I –”

“Why would I need to find a whore when there is one rightin front of me?” he asked silkily, shifting his weight forwarduntil she was trapped between his hard body and thewindow. His hands were the opposite of passionate now asthey swept up her slender ribcage and she cried out whenthey closed painfully around her breasts.

“Stop it! Marcus, what has gotten into you? Let me gothis instant!”

“Why? You let other men touch you. Isn’t this what youlike, being treated like the whore you are?” he growledbefore he lowered his head and ravished her mouth in akiss intended to plunder and punish. Keeping her pinnedagainst the window with his body, he dropped one hand tocup her sex through her gown and grinded his palm againsther in a grotesque exaggeration of how he had pleasuredher last night. Now his fingers brought only pain, notpleasure, and when she tried to twist free he tangled onehand in her long hair, tearing it free from the silk ribbon.

Tears born of pain and panic stung her eyes. A mewlingwhimper forced its way past her lips. With no other way todefend herself, she bit down on Marcus’ invading tongue ashard as she could.

On a savage oath Marcus abruptly released her andstaggered back, his eyes so dark in his pale face theylooked black. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed

hard. “Catherine… Cat…. I never… I am so sorry… I don’tknow what came over me… Please, I…” He reached forher but she darted around him and stumbled to the frontdoor, her breath coming out in wheezing gasps andstutters.

“You’re a monster. A monster! And I h-hate you!” shecried in anguish. Flinging the front door open so hard itslammed into the opposing wall, she fled the cottage as ifthe hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.

Marcus drew in a deep, trembling breath as the frontdoor slammed shut. He wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve,dully noting the spots of blood that stained the white cotton.Blindly he stumbled into the living room and slammed hishands down on the bar, making the bottles and tumblersjump. He stared down at his hands, regarding them as ifthey belonged to another, for surely it had not been hishands that had touched his wife in cruelness and anger. Nothis hands that had pinched and groped and bruised herdelicate skin. Not his hands that had filled her sapphireeyes with fear and loathing.

He clenched his hands into fists. Catherine was right. Hewas a monster.

The bottle of scotch was where he had left it the nightbefore. He downed the first shot without blinking, andpoured himself a second. The alcohol mocked him as heheld it aloft and on a muttered curse Marcus flung the glassagainst the wall where it shattered upon impact. His legsshook from the weight of his guilt and he collapsed into aleather chair to bury his face in his hands.

Where had it all gone wrong? They had been so bloodyhappy. So certain of their love for each other. He had neverimagined he would ever find someone like Catherine.Someone so sweet and loving. Gentle and kind. But he hadfound her, and then he had left her. Left her when she

begged him to stay, only to return and promptly leave heragain. He had driven her into the arms of other men. Shehad been young and naïve, an innocent bride of eight andten. He abandoned her to the wolves to pursue his bloodyfortune, and what had that gotten him? How did his cursedriches serve him now? His money did not keep him warmat night. It did not kiss him good morning. It did not put achild in the nursery. He was a fool. A selfish, arrogant fool.

Abruptly Marcus stood. This was his chance, he realizedwith a sharp intake of breath. His chance to make thingsbetter. To repair the damage he had caused. He neededCatherine in his life. Even with her temper and her flair forthe dramatic and her silly moods she made his life better.Hell, she made him better.

He wanted to see her nose crinkle again when shelaughed. To catch her against him and kiss her senselessin the middle of the day for no reason. To carry her upstairswhen she fell asleep reading in front of the fireplace anduse only his tongue to wake her. He wanted his wife back…and come hell or high water, he was going to get her.

Chapter Five

It was well past noon by the time Marcus found Catherinebehind the cottage curled in the shade of a large oak tree.He had searched everywhere else he could think of first: thestables, the small apple orchard she used to spend hourstrying to paint – unsuccessfully, he had recalled with a ruefulsmile; Catherine was many brilliant things, but an artist wasnot among them – and he had even started down the roadthinking she may have left Woodsgate all together, but hadturned around when he remembered the towering oak inthe wildflower meadow she had often napped beneathduring their honeymoon.

He thought she was sleeping now as he approached,until her head lifted with the alertness of a skittish deer.Quickly she climbed to her feet and brushed a few errantpieces of grass from her long skirts. When she finally liftedher chin the accusation in her cool blue eyes was like aslap to the face. Marcus reeled back as a cold, clammysweat broke out across his temple. Suddenly winning hiswife’s affections back did not seem like such a simple task.

“Cat, I am so sorry –” he began hoarsely, but she cut himoff with one raised finger.

“Do not waste your breath in an apology, LordKensington. If anything, I should be the one to apologize. Inever should have come here. I have sent word to thenearest town that I shall require a carriage to take me toKensington. From there I will pack my things and return toLondon with all post haste.” Her voice was level, herexpression serene. She might have been telling him aboutthe weather, and Marcus was taken aback by hercalmness.

He had expected her to rage at him. To yell and throw

things as she always did when she was in the midst of oneof her tempers. Or at the very least give him the silenttreatment, which she had deemed necessary only oncebefore when he had inadvertently forgotten her birthday. Hedeserved those things and more for what he done to her,but this… He didn’t know how to react to this.

“What about the divorce?” Bloody hell. Infuriated withhimself, Marcus swept a hand through his dark hair andcupped the back of his neck, pinching the muscles that rantaut beneath the skin. He had not intended to mention thedamned divorce. Nothing was going as he had pictured it inhis mind. Catherine was supposed to be weeping and hewas supposed to take her in his arms and beg for herforgiveness before confessing his undying love. Instead shestood before him perfectly composed without a shimmer ofa tear on her beautiful face, and he was the one acting likea hysterical female.

“I no longer require a divorce, Marcus,” she said. A halfsmile tipped her mouth to the side, making her appearfaintly sheepish. “It was childish of me to ask for one in thefirst place and for that I do apologize. Our marriage isconvenient for both of us. It was selfish of me to try tochange that.”

Something tightened in his chest. “You wish to remainmarried then?” The question came out in a rush. He heldhis breath, knowing his life rested on her response. Hisdear, sweet Catherine. Love for her surged through him likea wave and it took all of his self control not to close thedistance between them in one mighty stride and gather herin his arms. They had years of lost time to make up for. Asecond honeymoon was in order, of course. They couldeven spend it here, at Woodsgate. Explore the fields andforests by day, make passionate love by night. It would belike it was before, when they first fell in love and he had theentire world at his fingertips. He imagined her heavy with

his child, and –“Yes, of course I wish to remain married.” Catherine

looked at him oddly, and too late Marcus realized hisexpression must have revealed some of the longing he wasdesperately trying to contain.

Her winged eyebrows drew together over the bridge ofher nose, and a frown captured her mouth. “But it will be asit has been, Marcus. I shall maintain my residence in thecity during the Season, while you conduct your businessfrom Kensington. Surely you did not think we would livetogether?” The musical sound of her laughter sliced throughhim like a knife.

“Do not be foolish,” he scoffed, even as he wondered ifthis is how it felt to die from the inside out. “I simply wantedto make certain my wife would not be underfoot should Ichoose to entertain someone of the… female persuasion.”

For the first time her veneer of aloofness cracked. Hewaited for her to do something, to say something that wouldgive him reason to hope she still felt for him as he did forher, but she drew in a deep breath and the anger that hadtemporarily brightened her eyes dimmed into acceptance.

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” she said softly, dropping hergaze to the wildflowers that bloomed at her feet. Bendingdown she picked a large daisy and started tosystematically pluck the white petals off one by one. Theybegan to spiral towards the ground in slow, lazy circles. “AsI said, I will only be at Kensington for as long as it takesHannah to pack my things. When I am gone you mayentertain your… guests as often as you like.”

“Just make certain you hurry,” he said. He wanted to hurther, hurt her as badly as she had him, and a dark sense ofsatisfaction settled over his shoulders when he saw herflinch from his cruel barb.

Still keeping her eyes averted, she shrugged. “Yes, well, Iwill do my best. Now if you will excuse me I must return to

the cottage to change into a dress more suitable fortraveling. The carriage should be here soon.” She droppedthe flower and brushed her palms against the sides of herskirt.

When she swept past him he did not try to stop her, nordid he turn to watch her go. Instead he knelt to pick up themangled daisy she had carelessly discarded and shoved itin his pocket. It still had one petal left.

Catherine made it halfway to Kensington before sobsoverwhelmed her petite frame and she cried out herheartache inside of the small bouncy carriage with its mustyvelvet interior and one squeaky wheel.

It had taken all of the strength she possessed to keepfrom falling to pieces in front of Marcus. She had keptwaiting for him to take her in his arms and kiss hersenseless. To erase from her mind the hateful things hehad said and done with words of love and adoration. Sheeven thought she had seen something in those gray, stormyeyes… a flicker of compassion, a seed of yearning, but shehad been mistaken. Marcus did not yearn and he had nocompassion. Not for her. Not for anyone or anything. Hewas a cold man, a man incapable of basic human feeling,and she was well rid of him.

A fresh torrent of salty tears poured down her palecheeks as she remembered how he had flung hisparamours in her face. She had drawn so far into herself bythat point she hadn’t even known what she was saying, onlythat she had to find a way to leave before she crumpled athis feet and begged him to love her. The knowledge of howclose she had been to doing just that terrified her.Catherine would never humble herself to anyone, let aloneher own husband, a man who held her in such low regardhe could not look upon her face without contempt gleamingin his eyes.

The carriage reached Kensington just as the sun wassetting. When Catherine emerged her tears were gone, buther face was unnaturally pale and her eyes lined with red.The sight of her lady’s maid waiting at the side of thecarriage drew a wan smile from her, and she clutchedHannah’s arm as they made their way up the cascade ofmarble steps and into the dimly lit mansion.

“You looked exhausted, mum,” Hannah observed, herwide set brown eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You did notgo to visit your cousin in Edinburgh, did you? You went tohim instead. Oh mum, why would you do such a thing?”

Under normal circumstances Catherine would regaleHannah with tales of her journey over steaming cups of hotchocolate, but not tonight. Tonight she just wanted to crawlinto bed and never come out again.

“Please draw a hot bath,” she said tiredly. “And beginpacking my things. I will be returning to London in themorning.”

“London?” Hannah repeated, her plump lips parting indismay. “But you have only just arrived here, mum.”

“Yes, and now I wish to return to London,” Catherine said,more sharply than she had intended.

Hannah’s face fell, and her shoulders drooped as shewalked away after mumbling a quick ‘yes mum’.

Catherine had never been so short with her maid before.She hesitated, uncertain whether to go to Hannah now orlater, before deciding she was in no shape to makeamends. Tomorrow would serve just as well to apologizefor her atrocious behavior, after she had had a good night’ssleep and her emotions were back where they needed tobe: locked up tightly where no one – least of herself – couldget to them.

She slowly climbed the winding staircase and wentdirectly to her room. Adjacent to the master bedroom it was

her favorite room in the entire mansion, mostly because itwas the only room that showed a female influence. She haddesigned it herself, choosing shades of blues for the wallsand cheerful yellows for the curtains.

The room had been decorated with the intention ofbecoming a nursery, and Catherine’s mouth fell into a flatline of regret as she perched on the edge of the bed tounlace her boots. What plans she and Marcus had hadtogether. First to marry, then to raise a family and livehappily ever after. How simple everything had seemedthen, when their hardest decision had been how manychildren to have. He had wanted four, she six. As long asthey are all girls with blue eyes and golden hair, we shallhave as many as you want, he always used to tell her.

How naïve I was, she thought with a bitter smile. Naïveand hopelessly foolish, to think fairytales came true. Nowshe knew the truth of it. Fairytales existed to soothe fretfulchildren. They were not real, and they certainly never cametrue.

When her bath was drawn she slipped readily into the hotwater. Her body ached in places it had not ached in forthree years. Marcus had always been so considerate afterthey made love. He would draw her a bath and carry her toit, washing her body and rubbing away any lingeringsoreness from their arduous lovemaking. Often he wouldclimb into the tub with her and she would languish againsthim as his hands became intimately reacquainted with theplaces they had just touched. Before the water grew cold hewould carry her back to their bed and lay her down ever sogently, and his lips would press against her –

Stop it, Catherine ordered herself fiercely. She satupright in the tub and her skin puckered where it met thecool air. Stop it right now. Marcus does not love you anylonger. You will think of him no more.

Hannah reappeared to fold a towel beneath her head so

she could recline all the way back in the claw foot tub, butflitted away in an angry huff before Catherine could thankher. Forcing herself to draw in a deep, calming breath sheclosed her eyes and relaxed down into the rose scentedwater, letting it glide in a silky caress over her knees andshoulders. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

Lips traced a tantalizing path down her neck andbetween her breasts. They closed around her nipple anddrew it into a hot mouth with a tongue that swirled and teeththat nibbled. Catherine writhed beneath the deliciousonslaught and arched her spine, offering herself with thewild abandon of one who desperately craved more.

She was rewarded with hands that swept down her bodyto her thighs, before they slid between her knees to pullthem gently apart. She yielded easily to the quiet pressureand when a finger slipped into the soft velvet core of hershe couldn’t help but moan. The first finger was joined byanother. They began to slide in and out in a sensual rhythmthat had her crying out before her mouth was captured anddevoured with bold, sweeping strokes.

Fire licked through her, burning her from the inside out,and she began to move in wild, mindless abandon…spurred on by the crude, naughty, utterly imaginative thingsher lover was whispering huskily in her ear as his fingerscontinued to plunge and stroke.

It was too dark to see the face looming above her but sheknew who it was. No one had ever touched her like this,kissed her like this, loved her like this but her husband. Athroaty moan shot up from the depths of her throat as shehovered on the brink of surrender. The fingers inside of herintensified to a frenzied tempo that had her hips buckingand begging for more. She cried out her lover’s name asrelease washed over her like a wave, sending her spinninginto dark, tumultuous waters.

Catherine woke with Marcus’ name on her lips. Sheblinked and shot upright, sending cold water sloshing overthe sides of the tub and onto the floor. Shivering, for thebath water had long ago gone cold, she climbed out andwrapped herself in a soft cotton robe. The covers of herbed had been drawn back and without bothering to combthe tangles from her hair or even dry herself off, she crawledbeneath the heavy quilt and let the pillow dry her tears.

Chapter Six

Five Months Later – London

For the first time since her debut, Catherine was notpartaking in any of the balls, elaborate charity events, orintimate dinner parties that made up the Season.Surprisingly she missed nary a second of it, instead findinga quiet kind of comfort and joy from reading in front of thefireplace late into the night, taking strolls through Hyde Parkwith her friends, and spending time with her parents whohad a residence only two streets over from her own.

From Marcus she had heard not a word and as theweeks turned into months she began to think of him lessand less, until he only entered her thoughts once or twice aday. Despite her fervent attempts to the contrary she couldnot help but wonder where he was and what he was doing.Had he returned to Kensington? Was he spending hisnights with someone else? Were they happy? Did he everthink about his wife?

“You are doing it again,” Grace chided gently, bringingCatherine back to the present.

The two friends were walking slowly through the middle ofHyde Park, their hands burrowed in fur muffs and theirbodies layered in thick wool cloaks. It was late January inLondon, and winter had not been kind to the city. Theirboots crunched over snow as they stepped to the side to leta sleigh pass and Grace teetered on a patch of ice beforeregaining her balance with a rueful smile and shake of herhead.

A bit on the plump side with raven colored hair and skyblue eyes that bespoke of her Irish heritage, Grace waswoefully uncoordinated. Her clumsiness was a bit of arunning joke amidst her friends, but her potential suitors did

not find it so amusing when she lit their sleeves on fire,spooked their horses, or – the worse yet – caused them tofall head first into ponds. As a result she was still unmarriedat the rather advanced age of twenty four; a problem sheseemed in no hurry to remedy.

“Doing what?” Catherine’s voice came out muffled asshe gave the red scarf covering her face a firm upwards tuguntil only her eyes were visible.

“Thinking about Lord Kensington,” said Grace. Due tolosing her scarf half an hour ago when she had fallen into asnow bank, her frown was clearly visible. “We have talkedabout this, haven’t we? More times than I can count! Theman is an absolute scoundrel and you are lucky to be rid ofhim. We all agree.” By ‘all’ she meant, of course, herself,Margaret, and Josephine.

The four women fancied themselves the best of friendsand had seen each through thick and thin since they metattending the same boarding school. They all would havebeen at Catherine’s side in a show of unanimous supporthad they been able, but Margaret had a touch of the flu andJosephine was on her honeymoon. Just married four dayspast, she had been whisked off to the coast of France byher new husband, Lord Traverson Gates, and would not beback until the end of the month.

“I know,” Catherine sighed. She tilted her head back tostudy the skeletal branches that stretched above them,clacking and hissing in the wind. The sun was near tosetting and the dropping temperature caused a shiver torace down her spine. “Are you ready to turn back yet? It isgetting quite cold.”

Grace stopped so suddenly her right foot flew out fromunder her and had it not been for Catherine reaching out tograb her flailing arm, she would have flipped top over teakettle. Too used to her clumsiness to become flustered, shesnickered under her breath and squeezed Catherine’s arm

through her thick red cloak. “What would I do without you?Come along, let’s get you inside before you turn into anicicle. There is the cutest little tea shop right not too far off.Twinings, I believe it is called, after the owner MatthewTwining. Not terribly original, is it? And a bit conceited, ifyou ask me. Why, if I ever opened a small bookstore Iwould never call it ‘Graces’. Could you imagine whatpeople would say? If I ever meet Mr. Twining you can becertain…”

Catherine listened with half an ear as her friend rambledon. When they reached the small tea ship with its cheerfullydecorated windows and cozy fire crackling away in thecorner she followed Grace inside, pausing only to stampher feet to get the excess snow off her boots and circulationback into her toes.

The shop was filled nearly to the brim with people whohad also wanted to escape the cold, but they managed tofind a small table near the fireplace that was unoccupied.Grace rushed around the side of the table to takeCatherine’s cloak and hovered over her like an anxiousmother hen as Catherine gripped the arms of the chair andreadied herself to sit down.

“Do you need help?” Grace asked, fluttering her handsanxiously in the air.

“No, no, I am fine. It just… takes a bit… there.” Catherinesighed in relief as she plopped rather unceremoniously intoher chair. Automatically her gloved hands curved aroundher burgeoning belly and a smile bloomed across her faceas she felt a small answering kick. “The cold weathermakes her feisty,” she murmured, more to herself than toGrace, but her friend possessed the ears of a fox and didnot hesitate to respond.

“You should be lying in bed eating scones, not walkingabout in the snow,” she scolded, wagging her finger.

“I am healthy as a horse,” Catherine replied succinctly.

“And only five months along. I refuse to lock myself awaysimply because I am expecting a child.”

“You needn’t be so dramatic,” said Grace with a quickroll of her eyes. “It is called confinement, and it is practicedby every pregnant woman in England and beyond.”

“Except by those who have to work for their living, yetthey somehow manage to have perfectly healthy babieswithout spending weeks inside their bedrooms.”

“A somewhat valid point,” Grace said grudgingly, butthere was a fond light in her eyes as her gaze dropped toCatherine’s stomach, now faintly outlined beneath theempire waistline of her walking dress.

Catherine had discovered she was pregnant shortly afterreturning to London. She had thought about writing Marcusa letter for weeks, but had eventually discarded the idea asfolly. She had never in her wildest dreams imagined a babywould come from their one intimate night together and shewas terrified of what Marcus might do if he found out shewas carrying what could be his heir, if it was a boy. She hadalready lost her husband; she could not live with herself ifshe lost her child as well.

When the sky began to darken outside the tea shop thetwo women stood and said their goodbyes. Grace livedwith her parents only a short half block away, in theopposite direction of Catherine’s townhouse. She offeredto accompany her friend, but Catherine gently pushed heralong, and struck out on her own.

The wind had picked up and snow blew in the air asCatherine fought through London’s foot traffic. She wasjostled and pushed as she walked briskly forward, but shekept a firm grip on her purse and managed to reach hertownhouse without incident.

A tidy brownstone set back from the street behind awrought iron fence, it had been Marcus’ wedding present toher. Neither of them ever imagined it would one day come

to serve as her primary residence.Exhausted by the rapid pace she had set for herself,

Catherine collapsed into the first chair she came to afterher butler took her cloak, scarf, and muff beforedisappearing into the kitchen to ready a pot of tea. Closingher eyes, she began to rub her belly in soothing rhythmiccircles.

“A bit late to be out walking by yourself, isn’t it?” Apainfully familiar voice drawled from the shadows.

With a loud gasp Catherine jolted upright. Her hands flewto her mouth in silent dismay as Marcus unfolded himselffrom where he had been leaning against the far wall andstalked across the parlor to stand in front of her, his jawclenched tight and his gray eyes dark as the cloudsoutside.

“Is there something you would like to tell me, Catherine?”he asked quietly. His gaze swept down her body, lingeredbriefly on the soft swell of her belly, and jerked back up toher flushed face.

Catherine’s mouth opened and closed, but she couldn’tforce any words out. Belatedly she realized nearly everycandle in the house had been dimmed and no servantswere in sight. Clues that would have alerted her to Marcus’presence if she had not been so tired.

“I… I do not… when… what are you doing here?” shefinally managed to croak out. Inside her chest her heartbeat rapidly. She drew in a deep, unsteady breath andcurled her arms around her stomach in a protective gesturethat brought an immediate scowl to Marcus’ face.

“There is no reason for you to be afraid of me,” hesnapped. “I did not come here to hurt you. I simply want toknow why you have kept your pregnancy from me. Is thechild mine?”

The bluntness of his question was the spark she neededto find her voice. “Yes,” she said and then, because she

had nothing else to hide, continued in a voice raw withemotion and barely restrained tears. “The baby could noone else’s but yours, Marcus. I have never been withanother man.”

His jaw hardened. “Since you became pregnant, youmean. You have not been with another man since youbecame pregnant.”

“No,” Catherine countered softly. She looked down at herhands. Her simple gold wedding band seemed to glow inthe dim candlelight and she spun it anxiously around on herfinger, struggling to find the words with which to tell herhusband the truth. “I mean never. I… I should have told yousooner, but when you never asked me directly, when youjust believed all of the rumors…”

She felt a faint pressure on her knees and looked up tosee Marcus kneeling in front of her chair, his faceunnaturally pale and his eyes almost feverishly bright. Hehad lost weight since the last time she had seen him andhis cheeks were gaunt, his hair untended. He lookedmiserable.

“What are you saying?” he asked hoarsely.It was time – past time – to finally reveal the truth.

Catherine swallowed hard, and proceeded to do just that. “Ihave never been unfaithful, Marcus. I flirted, true, but it wasonly an attempt to bring you back to me. I was young andvain, and missed you oh so terribly when you left. I thought ifI made you jealous you would want to keep me by yourside, but it only drove you away. Why did you leave? Didn’tyou love me?” Unshed tears pooled in the corners of hereyes but she held them back, instinctively knowing this washer final chance to find resolution with her husband, if onlyfor the sake of their unborn child.

Marcus flinched as if she had struck him. He closed hiseyes and drew in a ragged breath. “I loved you with everypart of my soul, but I was stupid and arrogant. I had

everything I needed, but I needed to have more. When Ireturned to England and believed you had been in the armsof other men… it drove me mad. I couldn’t reason, couldn’tthink. I made the wealth I thought was so important, but thesacrifice was far too great. I see that now.” His fingers duginto the soft flesh of her thighs as he leaned towards herand the desperate love she saw etched across his facerobbed the very breath from her lungs.

“I would welcome the life of a pauper,” he whisperedachingly. “If it meant I could spend just one more night inyour arms.”

“Oh, Marcus…” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Inthe space of an instant they were in each others arms. Shewrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into hischest; he fisted his hands in her hair and pressed his faceinto her neck.

Time itself seemed to slow. The room spun in a lazycircle while Catherine clung to Marcus with all of herstrength. He lifted her chin and kissed her damp cheeks,her temple, her nose… before settling with desperatehunger on her mouth. Their tongues entwined as theystrained towards each other and liquid heat slid downCatherine’s body to pool in the most intimate part of her.

“Wait, my darling.” His face straining from the effort,Marcus gently grasped her shoulders and set her awayfrom him.

Catherine murmured in helpless protest, loathe to beseparated from him for even a second. He chuckled low inhis throat and reached out to tuck a loose curl behind herear, his fingers lingering like a whisper on the curve of herjaw.

“We still need to talk and I cannot think clearly when I amtouching you,” Marcus admitted, the hint of a smile tilting hismouth upwards.

Catherine’s gaze flitted down his body to where the bulge

of his manhood was quite evident and pink stained hercheeks. Nibbling on her lower lip she obediently took a stepback and linked her hands across her belly. “Y-yes?” sheasked, unable to keep the quiet hitch from her voice.

“We have been unbearably cruel to each other,Catherine. We have done and said things – I have doneand said things – that cannot be easily forgotten, orforgiven.”

Her eyes closed as pain closed like a vice around herheart. He was going to leave her again, and heaven helpher but she would not survive it. Not now, when she had feltwhat their love for each could be like. A single tear droppedfrom the corner of her eye and glistened on her cheek like adiamond. It contained every heartache and every betrayalshe had ever suffered, every sleepless night she hadendured, and every hope she had seen crushed.

She started when she felt something press ever go gentlyagainst her cheek. Her eyes opened to watch in silentwonder as Marcus caught her tear on his thumb andpressed it to his lips.

“Do not cry any more, my beloved. I cannot bear it,” hesaid gruffly, his own eyes suspiciously damp.

Catherine reached out for him blindly. He caught heroutstretched hand and pressed it flat to his chest. Beneathher palm she felt his heart beat, steady and strong, and sheknew.

She knew the past was the past. She knew the hardshipsthat had once kept them apart were now bringing thetogether. She knew the bond they shared could be strained,but never broken. And most importantly, she knew that…

“I love you,” she said fiercely.“Oh Cat,” he sighed.A giddy laugh escaped her as he plucked her up in his

arms and spun her around. When he set her back down onher feet he kept her cradled against his chest and the

words he whispered in her ear brought even more tears,but these were tears of happiness, not grief, and the smilethat captured her mouth could have rivaled the sun on thebrightest of days.

“I loved you yesterday, today, and I shall love you forevery tomorrow. You are my heart, my soul, my very reasonfor being,” he finished simply.

“Truly?” she asked, winding her arms around his neck.He gazed down tenderly into her upturned face, and ever

so softly touched her mouth with his. “Truly. Now pack yourthings. No child of mine is going to be born anywhere butKensington. And you had best get used to being there wife,for I fear London does not suit me at all.”

Biting back a laugh, Catherine traced a fingertip downthe side of his face and played idly with a dark curl. “Howdo you know it does not suit you? I think it is a ratherwonderful place,” she said, lowering her lashes to disguisethe mischief in her eyes. More than anything she yearned toreturn to the quiet peacefulness of Kensington, butCatherine would not be Catherine if she gave in too easily.

“Because I have been here nigh on a month!” Marcussaid. “I have attended every bloody ball, spent half myfortune on charities, and sat through more boring teaparties than I can count.”

“You have?” Catherine asked in surprise. Suddenapprehension flashed across her face as she consideredwhy her husband had been in London for so long withoutcoming to see her. Surely he had not brought a mistresswith him?

Seeing her expression, Marcus captured her hand andbrought her knuckles to his lips. “I was looking for you,darling,” he said, exasperated.

“Then you… left your mistress in the country?” she askedhesitantly.

“I never had, nor will I ever have, a mistress. You are the

only woman for me, Lady Kensington.”She narrowed her eyes at him. “Then why didn’t you

come here first when you came to London?”“Because I am a stubborn, foolish man,” he admitted with

a wry smile. “Who wanted a chance encounter with his wifeinstead of coming to her home and begging herforgiveness on his knees.”

One blond eyebrow arched. “You did not get on yourknees,” she pointed out, disguising her grin with a raisedhand.

“For the love of… Ah, Cat, we are going to drive eachother mad.”

“And then some,” she agreed. “Do you remember whatwe used to do after we fought?” she asked coyly, lashesfluttering.

The sudden hardness against her thigh told her Marcusdid remember. She shrieked with delight when he swepther up in his arms to take the stairs two at a time andsmiled into the crook of his shoulder.

Finally, her husband had come home.

Epilogue

“He looks like he is going to faint, doesn’t he Grace?”Grinning ear to ear, Josephine sat up from the willowbacked settee she had been lounging on and glancedacross the parlor to where her beloved friend’s husbandMarcus was pacing a hole in a rather lovely Persian rug.

“He does look a bit pale,” Grace agreed. Perched on theedge of a windowsill across the room, she was desperatelytrying to stay cool by fanning herself. It was only May, but thetemperature was unusually warm for spring. Smothering ayawn with the back of her hand, she slouched against thewindow and pressed the side of her face against one of theglass panes. It offered little respite from the stuffiness of theroom and she struggled to open the window. “Jo, do comehere and help me.”

Rolling her eyes, Josephine stood and crossed the roomin three graceful strides. She studied the window for thebriefest of moments before standing on tiptoe to unlock thelatch at the top. “Honestly, dear. Don’t you ever look at howsomething works before you try to work it?”

“Not often,” Grace admitted with a cheeky grin. Droppingher entire head and shoulders through the opening, shesighed in relief. “Ah, so much better.”

“You are going to fall out,” Josephine predicted mildly.“I fell out of a window last summer,” Grace reminded her,

her voice slightly muffled. “I can’t do it twice in a row.”“Yes, well, best you come back inside. Lord Melbourne

has just arrived.”Grace sat up so fast she slammed her forehead against

the bottom of the window. Grimacing, she jumping downfrom the windowsill, promptly turned one ankle, and wenthopping across the room like some deranged rabbit.

Observing the general chaos that seemed to follow herfriend where ever she went, Josephine clucked her tongueand went to intercept Lord Melbourne, subtly closing thepocket doors to the parlor behind her to give Grace amoment to compose herself.

She found the Earl of Terraview with the Duke ofKensington. Both were hunched over the bar in the Duke’sprivate study, but only one was drinking. As Josephineapproached with her usual catlike grace Lord Melbourne,the esteemed Earl of Terraview, sipped from his glass ofbrandy and set it down beside him. Of the two men it wasthe Duke, despite his lack of drink, who looked the worsefor wear and a secretive smile pulled at the corners ofJosephine’s mouth, for she knew the reason why and wasvastly amused by it.

“Good afternoon, gentleman,” she said by way ofannouncing her presence.

“Lady Garamond, have you heard anything? Have youbeen up to see her?” Marcus lurched away from the bar, hisface drawn tight with worry.

I was quite right, Josephine thought to herself. He doesindeed look like he is going to pass out at any moment.“Not a thing dear,” she chirped. “And no, I have mostcertainly not been up to see her. Margaret is the only onebrave enough for that particular duty and I am certain whenthere is news to share she will come down and share it.Surely, there is nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?” he repeated in a strainedvoice. “She has been up there for four hours!”

“Having a child takes time, Marcus,” Lord Melbournedrawled from the bar. “Have a drink or three. It will calmyour nerves.”

“The Duke no longer drinks –” Josephine began.“I no longer drink –” Marcus started to say.They cut each other off and exchanged a brief smile. It

was well known – at least among their close knit circle offriends, which Lord Melbourne had just recently joinedcourtesy of his engagement to Grace – that Marcus hadsworn off spirits the moment Catherine came back into hislife.

Lord Melbourne shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said as heraised his glass to take another sip.

Josephine used that opportunity to study Lord Melbournebeneath her exceedingly long lashes. She had only met theman once before, and her opinion now was much the sameas it had been then – she didn’t like the Earl of Terraview.Not at all. Oh, on paper he was splendid: wealthy, wellpedigreed, and there was no denying his physical appeal.But in person… Well, there was something quite off aboutthe man. He was too aloof. Too detached. Too stiff in theupper lip. Not to mention the small fact that he wasengaged to her best friend. Josephine could quite simplynot figure out what Grace saw in the man or, if she wasbeing brutally honest, what he saw in her. Grace wasbeautiful and sweet and charmingly clumsy, all traits whichmade her perfect for someone – if that someone was notLord Melbourne.

“Yes, well,” she said finally. “I shall return to the parlor andleave you men to it. Hold tight,” she advised Marcus, herviolet eyes sparkling with sympathy. “Catherine is strongand she has done this once before.”

The mere mention of Marcus’ beloved one year olddaughter Elizabeth who was playing outside under theclose supervision of Hannah brought a flicker of relief to hisfeatures. “Yes,” he sighed. “Of course she has. Of course.Thank you, Josephine,” he said meaningfully.

“You are quite welcome,” she smiled. Leaving the studyshe shut the door quietly behind her and leaned up againstit. It had not escaped her attention that Lord Melbourne hadnot inquired – not once – as to Grace’s whereabouts or well

being. The man was cold as a dead fish. He was not suitedto lick Grace’s shoes, let alone be her husband. Somethinghad to be done, Josephine decided then and there. Andshe was just the person to do it.

Two hours later, her pink cheeks flushed even brighterthan usual and her red hair is wild disarray, Margaretappeared at the top of the stairs to announce the arrival ofMarcus’ and Catherine’s newest child, a beautiful blondhaired, blue eyed girl that looked just like her mother.

“A girl! Another girl!” Marcus bellowed before he rushedup the stairs to be with his wife and newborn daughter.

“Unfortunate it wasn’t a boy,” Lord Melbourne remarked.“Have they picked out a name?” Grace inquired.“Sarah,” said Margaret. Sinking down on the bottom step

of the stairs in an exhausted slump, she stretched her armsabove her head and released a jaw cracking yawn. “AndAbigail.”

“They picked out two names?” Josephine frowned.“That’s rather odd, isn’t it?”

“Not two names,” Margaret corrected. “Two babies.”“Two babies?” Grace squealed. Leaping forward, she

caught her toe on the rug Marcus had been pacing earlierin the day and went sprawling headfirst. Faster than anyonecould blink Lord Melbourne reached out, caught her aroundher waist, and pulled her upright before he returned toslouching against the wall. “But you only said one name toMarcus,” she said, now rather breathless.

Margaret smiled. “Yes, well, Catherine wanted it to be asurprise.”

Upstairs in the quiet solitude of a charming bedroom withblue walls and yellow curtains, a very surprised – and veryelated – Marcus stood over the crib of his two newborndaughters. His wife was sleeping in the room right across

the hall, thoroughly exhausted but happy beyond measure.Just as Marcus turned to go be by her side, he felt a tiny tugon his trouser.

“And what do we have here?” he said, bending down toscoop up his now eldest daughter. Elizabeth smiled at him,revealing her brand new front tooth. He kissed her roundcheeks and nuzzled her tuft of blond hair. She pointed at thecrib and correctly interpreting her desire to meet her twonew siblings, Marcus brought her over to where theypeacefully slept.

Elizabeth gazed down at Sarah and Abigail, her blueeyes bright with interest, before she looked back up at herfather and puffed out her cheeks. Shifting her to his hip,Marcus began to rock her back and forth. “Do you want meto tell you a fairytale, love?” he asked. Elizabeth gurgledand cooed, which Marcus decided to take as a definite‘yes’.

“Well,” he began softly, so as not to wake the sleepingnewborns or their mother, “it started when a handsomeprince met a beautiful princess. They fell in love and weresoon married, but the handsome prince was foolish and leftthe beautiful princess to search for gold…”

The sun was setting by the time Marcus got to the end ofhis tale. Elizabeth was sound asleep, her head restingagainst his shoulder, her tiny fingers curled around hisneck. He kissed her brow and went back to the crib tocheck on the twins one more time. Abigail – or was itSarah? He wasn’t quite sure – stared up at him with eyesthe color of sapphires.

“Would you like me to finish the story?” he asked.She blinked owlishly at him.Marcus smiled tenderly. A surge of love swept through

him, love for his wife, love for his three beautiful children,and love for the new life they had given him. A life filled withjoy and laughter. A life meant to be lived.

“I would like to hear the end of the story,” said Catherine.Appearing in the doorway dressed in a loose fitting robewith her hair unbound and swept across one shoulder, shewent to her husband. Marcus pulled her tightly against himand she curled into the crook of his shoulder, resting herhead over his heart. Together they gazed down upon theirsleeping children. Overwhelmed by the poignant sweetnessof the moment, Marcus felt his eyes fill with tears.

“They all lived happily ever after,” he said huskily,pressing his lips to Catherine’s temple.

And they did.

Read on for a preview of A RavishingRedhead the next novella in the Wedded

Women Quartet!

Please enjoy a sneak peek at chapter one of ARavishing Redhead, the next novella in the Wedded

Women Quartet!

Available on Kindle May 1st, 2012

Chapter One

Margaret had been married to her husband for eightmonths, sixteen days, and – if her calculations were correct,which they almost always were – approximately two and ahalf hours. During those seven months, sixteen days and(approximately) two and a half hours she had seen herhusband a total of one time. At their wedding, no less,where he had arrived drunk, slurred his vows, and sealedher fate with a sloppy kiss that had landed on her leftearlobe instead of her lips.

She did not blame him for imbibing in a bit toomuch whisky before walking down the aisle. She wouldhave gladly gotten drunk herself had it not been for thewatchful eye of her mother. But Nettie Combs, knowing fullwell the willful nature of her eldest daughter, had keptMargaret under lock and key until it was time for theceremony to begin.

Lady Combs had been carefully planning the ‘wedding ofthe season’ (as it was now referred to since no one else ofimportance had gotten married since that fateful Novemberday) since the engagement had been announced and shehad been determined not to let anything – or anyone – ruinit.

“Well you certainly got what you wanted,Mother,” said Margaret to no one in particular, for no one inparticular was around. “I am wed to a Duke, and yourgrandchildren shall one day carry titles higher than yourown. I hope you are very happy, for I am not, and I fear Inever will be.”

Rolling over onto her stomach, she swatted at apiece of grass that threatened to tickle her nose anddropped her head onto one lanky arm. Overhead thesummer sun beat down unmercifully and she wished shehad not forgotten her bonnet. Now her freckles would beblatantly obvious, when before they had only shown incertain light, and her red hair would turn even redder –though how that was possible, she had no idea; she justknew it would because that is what her mother always said– and she would look like a heathen. A tall, freckle faced,red haired heathen.

“Oh who the bloody hell cares,” she grumbled,for it was true. No one but the servants saw her, and sincethey had not yet complained about her new habit of wearingboys clothing she highly doubted they would raise a fussover a few freckles.

Since her wedding Margaret had been more orless stranded at Heathridge, a five hundred acreramshackle estate that belonged to her new husband. Shedid not mind her isolated surroundings so much as she didthe boredom that came with them. There was nothing to do,no one to talk to. No mischief to make. Her three closestfriends had stayed for as long as they could after thewedding, but they all had their own lives to get back to.Catherine was busy raising three children and expectingher fourth, Josie was touring the continent with her lover,and Grace was preparing for her own wedding to the very illsuited – in Margaret’s opinion – Lord Melbourne.

“I could wither away and die here and no one

would notice,” she sighed dramatically. Flopping over ontoher back, she shaded her mismatched eyes against thesun and chewed down on her bottom lip. What she neededwas a new adventure. Something to occupy the hoursbetween breakfast and dinner. A new horse to train,perhaps.

For a moment Margaret’s entire face lit up, until sheremembered her husband had run off with every cent of herrather extensive dowry right after dumping her at his rottingexcuse of an estate. She still did not know if he hadintentionally stranded her without a penny to her name, or ifthe thought had simply not occurred to him to set up anallowance for his new wife before he took off for theunknown, but either way the result was the same. Until hereturned, or by some miracle her parents decided to comeand rescue her, she was stuck. She couldn’t even escape ifshe wanted to, for the carriage house was devoid of acarriage and the barn held nothing but horses so old theirbacks sagged nearly to the ground.

She had attempted to hire someone to take her toLondon, but no one within a twenty mile radius would supplya service without money up front due to her husband’sunpaid debts.

“I am a poor Duchess,” Margaret sighed. Tipping herhead to the side she arched an eyebrow at the sheepgrazing next to her. “Have you ever heard of a poorDuchess? No? Well, me either. But no use crying over spiltmilk, I suppose. Stiff upper lip, best foot forward and all that.Here we go.”

Springing to her feet she wiped her grass stained palmson the sides of the brown breeches one of the stable boyshad given her and straightened out her white linen shirt. Itbelonged to her husband, the only thing she had of his,since he had forgotten to give her a ring, and was nearlythree sizes too big. The long hem line helped distract from

the fact that her breeches – while in otherwise goodcondition – ended just below her knees. Had it not been forher shock of fiery red hair that tumbled nearly to her waistand her narrow, pixie like face that could never be confusedfor anything but female, Margaret might have passed for aboy, something she would not have minded in the least.

It was an inescapable fact that men had better luck thanwomen. Why, just look at her husband – eight months agohe had been broke and destitute; now he was rich as a larkand off traveling the world spending her dowry while shewas stuck in his downtrodden estate. Not fair at all, that.

Giving the sheep an absent pat on its furry head,Margaret skipped down the side of the hill and half walked,half ran the rest of the way to Heathridge.

In better hands the fifty seven room estate must havebeen nothing short of magnificent, but time and neglect hadtaken its toll. Paint was peeling from the window trim. Largechunks of plaster were missing from the walls. Even thegrass surrounding the estate was overgrown and filled withweeds after the gardener had quit and there had been nomoney to replace him. The inside of the mansion was nobetter than the outside, with dingy floors, dusty tapestries,and an overpowering smell of mold on rainy days.

Flushed and perspiring slightly, Margaret slowed to amore dignified walk just short of the front steps. Theyspiraled out from the main door, but even they werechipped on the edges and grass had begun to growbetween the granite cracks.

Hastings, the butler/footman/occasional head cook mether just inside the door with a cool glass of lemon water. Aportly man in his early fifties, he had loyally served theHeathridge family for thirty years and had not received asalary for the last five of them. Still he stayed on, mostly inpart because he had no where else to go, and no family tospeak of.

“Here you are, Lady Winter,” he said, extending the glassout to Margaret.

She took it and drank thirstily, hiccupped, and set theglass aside on a dusty table. “I have told you not to call methat,” she reminded him sternly.

“It is your name,” he said.“No, it is my husband’s name. And we both know I am

hardly a Lady, so why bother with all the fuss? Call meMargaret if you must, Maggie if you want, and never, ever,”she paused to shudder, “address me as Duchess.”

The hint of a smile appeared beneath Hastings’ ratherimpressive salt and pepper moustache. “As you wish, LadyWinter.”

Margaret threw her hands up in the air. “Egags, why do Ibother? What time is dinner tonight, Hastings?”

“Half past five o’ clock, Lady Winter.”She shot him a narrowed eyed glance. “I have time for a

ride, then?”“If you wish.”“Ha!” she cried triumphantly. “You didn’t do it that time.”“Do what, Lady Winter?”Her shoulders slumped. “I give up. If I am not back in time

for dinner, start without me.”“Certainly not,” said Hastings, looking aghast that she

would dare suggest such a thing.Margaret rolled her eyes. “There are five people living

here besides myself, Hastings. Why should you all have towait if I am running late? Just keep a plate warm and I willeat when I return.” Turning on her heel, she trotted down thesteps before Hastings could argue with her, and wentdirectly to the stables.

Destroyed by a fire and rebuilt recently, it was the onlybuilding on the property that had not fallen into a state ofdisrepair and Margaret was determined to keep it that way.She called each horse by name as she strolled into the

barn and one by one they popped their heads over theirstall doors to greet her with warm nickers of affection.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, pausing to scratch Poppy,a dark palomino, under her chin. In her younger yearsPoppy had plowed the fields that now lay fallow behind themain house, but now she had more gray hairs on her facethan brown and walked with a slight limp. Her sweet naturemade her one of Margaret’s favorites, and she oftenspoiled the mare with carrots and apples stolen from thekitchen.

Hay was piled neatly at the end of the barn. Filling awheelbarrow with the sweet smelling dried grass, she fedeach horse in turn and when they were all nibbling at theirhay exchanged the wheelbarrow for a large bucket of oats.She soaked Poppy’s grain for the old draft mare had littleteeth left to chew with, and opened up all of the stalls to letthe horses out into their evening grazing pasture when theywere finished eating. They filed past her one by one, tooused to their daily routine to raise a fuss, and she followedthem out to swing the gate closed behind them.

Now came the not so pleasant part, but it had to be done,and after scooping her hair up underneath a floppy hat androlling up her shirt sleeves, Margaret fetched anotherwheelbarrow and began mucking out the stalls.

It was hard labor, but she enjoyed the simple quietness ofit. A wry smile captured her lips as she remembered howher muscles had screamed in protest when she had firsttaken over care of the entire stables, but now her armswere strong and easily capable of dumping manure andhauling pails of water to and from the stalls.

She was on her second to last stall when an unfamiliarwhinny rang through the air. Still holding her pitchfork,Margaret poked her head out of the entrance of the barnand watched with interest as a gleaming bay approached.She was so entranced by the horse’s fine build and elegant

way of moving that she didn’t even notice the rider until hedropped to the ground in front of her and placed the horse’sreins in her hands.

“Here,” he said, not looking at her. “Cool him out andgroom him.”

Margaret bit the inside of her cheek to keep fromlaughing. Oh, she noticed the rider now all right, although hecertainly did not notice her. “Would you have me feed himas well?” she asked, deliberately speaking in a low voice.

“Yes, of course,” the rider said in a short, clipped tone.“And have him tacked again in an hour. I will not be stayinghere long.”

“Might I ask why?”The rider turned and leveled dark green eyes at her.

Margaret held her breath, waiting for him to recognize her,but he merely reached in his pocket and tossed her twocoins which she reached out to catch automatically. “Coolhim out, groom him, and feed him. I will be back in an hour.”

Without another word he walked away towards thehouse. Margaret stared after him in wordless disbelief,certain at any moment he was going to turn around andcome back. When the front door slammed behind him, sheshook her head.

“Can you believe that?” she asked the bay. The horseregarded her stoic silence. “Yes well,” she continued,grunting a bit as she loosened the bay’s tight cinch, “youhave to be loyal to him. You’re his horse. But I’m just hiswife, and I don’t like him a’ tall.”

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